


Wicked Game

by AwakeMySoul, Caivallon



Category: The Maze Runner RPF, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul/pseuds/AwakeMySoul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caivallon/pseuds/Caivallon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, yes, maybe it's the way Dylan looks at him. Or maybe it's the way he looks at Dylan. He doesn't know. They don't know. But what he knows is that he's now sitting on Dylan's lap, feet dangling to the ground, their thighs warm against each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Game

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by this:
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>  
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>  
> 
> Many thanks to [jarofhearts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/jarofhearts) for betaing ♥
> 
> * * *

Maybe it's the way Dylan always looks at him.

  
At first he thought he had imagined it. Only a creation of his own mind. But once he started to pay more attention, giving the other boy sideways glances from the corner of his eyes, never leaving him out of his sight... he has figured out that it's not _just_ a product of his vivid imagination.

  
The other boy is indeed watching him. And he's not only watching him when he speaks or while fooling around with one of the other actors.

  
It's all the time. _Always._

  
No matter if they were just walking over to the catering or walking over a red carpet, if they were giving interviews or just sitting on the balcony talking, when he turns there are warm autumn brown eyes looking at him. Sometimes Dylan tries to hide it... sometimes he does not and smiles at him. But no matter what it was or is, Thomas likes it. Wouldn't want it to change, because it's thrilling. Exciting.

  
So, yes, maybe it's the way Dylan looks at him. Or maybe it's the way he looks at Dylan. He doesn't know. They don't know. But what he knows is that he's now sitting on Dylan's lap, feet dangling to the ground, their thighs warm against each other.

  
Thomas' hands are caressing Dylan’s stubbled cheeks, his fingertips in the dark tousled hair and his lips eagerly kissing the soft mouth. He tastes traces of danish cookies and alcohol.

  
His heart beats so fast it would have hurt if he cared about such trivial things.

  
Yet he can't care... because there are warm arms around him, pulling him closer, holding him, a long neck bending backwards to give him more access and fluttering eyelids and answering kisses that send shivers down his spine. Quickly followed by nimble fingers that sneak into the back of his jeans, bringing him closer and rubbing his hips and groin against his, creating a beautiful friction that makes them both gasp for breath.

  
They part for a second to catch their fleeting thoughts and ideas and fantasies. But before the other can say something, Thomas bows down and kisses him again. Because sometimes Dylan has those annoying fits of reason and _that's_ definitely something he doesn't need now. And there's indeed a slight hesitation, a small shift as if he wants to pull away, but then Dylan just grabs him more tightly and guides him to sit more comfortably on his lap and he can feel that he's getting hard too. One hand fumbles for his belt while the other is still inside his trousers, grabbing him teasingly and possessively through the cotton of his boxers. 

Thomas has to laugh, can't help it - laughs into their kiss, watches Dylan’s eyes open again, confused and darker than before; despite his short flicker of doubt he looks accusingly and like he’s about to protest.

  
"So... you were _really_ watching me." he states, not caring to wait for an answer and leans forward, buries his face in the crook of Dylan’s neck again; smelling, licking, tasting the soft spot under his ear. Nibbling tiny bites because - _damn_ \- the guy tastes so good there. Salty, a bit tangy from sweat, with traces of soap and skin.

  
He only breaks the contact when the need for oxygen overcomes the need for Dylan’s scent in his lungs.

  
Their eyes meet and Thomas can see the undeniable smugness and amusement in Dylan’s face. He hasn't known that this guy is even capable of so much impudence, but obviously he is, because otherwise he would continue what he's doing inside Thomas' trousers, would slide them down and the boxers with them. Yet instead he just sits there, lazily massaging him through the fabric, shit eating grin plastered on his face and watching him with the obvious content of a child finally getting his long awaited present.

  
"Yeah... I may have watched you. But don't dare to tell me you didn't like it."

  
Thomas rolls his eyes at the other boy’s words, swears inwardly that he will erase that smirk from Dylan’s lips.

  
"Shut up."

  
So he settles for sitting fully upright again and slowly moving his hips against said long fingers and revel in the sight of Dylan before reaching out to take the half-full glass of whiskey from the table. The alcohol burns pleasantly on his taste buds, warming his stomach right away, mixing with the heat pooling in his groin, only intensified by the movement of his hips.

  
He smirks when he sees how the smile freezes.

  
Thomas can feel the effect he has on the other boy, can feel it in the twitch of the fingers holding him and he certainly can feel it in the little answering grids of Dylan. He smiles to himself. _Got you._

  
“Want some?” Thomas asks breathlessly, a shiver of pleasure running through his veins at a particular hard twist from Dylan.

  
Without waiting for an answer he takes another gulp of whiskey, this time not swallowing. His fingers find Dylan's chin, coaxing his mouth open before leaning down, their lips just almost touching as he shares the liquid with the other boy.

  
It’s messy and dirty.

  
A clash of lips and teeth and uncoordinated movements.

  
It’s exactly what Thomas wants.

  
Dylan’s free hand follows Thomas' spine to his shoulders while he licks the last traces of alcohol off the boy’s neck, fumbling to get his shirt out of the way, to get to his naked skin.

  
They both curse when it gets caught between their bodies, both of them moving too clumsily to manage to get rid of it.

  
Finally Thomas gives in and leans back, shaking fingers try to unbutton his own shirt while he attempts to ignore the urge to just rut against Dylan until they both come into their pants.

Because that’s _not_ what he wants.

  
So he stills himself, tries to concentrate on the few remaining buttons and not on the heat of Dylan’s groin brushing against his when the other struggles to get out of his shirt. Or the way he looks when his head appears again - hair tousled, amber eyes big and dark with excitement, full lips moist and glistening deliciously, like he just woke up from a wet dream - downright tempting and fuckable. And he stops his movements to lean in, to lick over those lips which are pretty addictive, Thomas decides.

  
So he forgets about removing his shirt - Dylan’s upper body is naked, the taut muscles and slightly tanned skin bare… that’s all that matters. Dylan wants him naked too? Fine, then he has to act accordingly, because he is busy right now with searching for the last drops and traces of the spilled whiskey on that chest.

  
Thomas can feel Dylan’s hand on his shoulder, in his hair, holding him in place as his tongue flicks over other boy’s nipple. The low moan echoing over the porch goes straight to his groin and an answering noise leaves his lips. Hot and almost desperate while he paints wet, open-mouthed kisses on Dylan’s skin.

  
The contact breaks when Dylan roughly pulls him back, their eyes meet and Thomas can see the fire burning in them.

  
“Shirt,” Dylan says, his voice hoarse with something that makes Thomas shiver. This being a side of the other boy, fiery and almost commanding, is new to him and he would be lying if he claims it doesn’t excite him.

  
“Make me.” Thomas smirks around the words, the challenge clear in his voice. He wants Dylan to act on this. He wants Dylan to be aware of what they are doing. Post-sex-freak-outs are not his thing.

  
But Dylan just watches him from above, smile so wide and almost too confident, fingers still in his hair, softly massaging, rubbing the back of his head lazily and absently. A gesture that is equally confusing and arousing. Then he shrugs, licks his lips and opens the remaining three buttons of Thomas’ shirt and brushes it from his shoulders, yanks it down before he can blink or fully enjoy it. One fluent and effective movement and he is half naked too.

  
“Better.”

  
Although Thomas is still a bit surprised (in the most pleasant way) he won’t complain. And certainly not when Dylan’s fingers wander from his shoulders over the bare skin of his back, slowly and carefully and thoroughly, almost admiringly... leaving shivers behind.

  
Thomas slowly moves his weight, letting himself slide forward, somehow deeper into Dylan’s lap and they both have to moan at the sudden shift. The noise is loud in his ears and for a moment he worries about the cast coming back from whatever fucked up game they are playing inside.

  
 _‘Fuck it’_ he thinks when he’s forcefully pulled down until their noses are almost touching. The warmth of their breath mixing between them as he waits for Dylan to close the gap.

  
“And I thought this evening was going to be boring,” Thomas smirks at Dylan who is still holding him in place.

  
“This is better than watching, right?” he asks, punctuating his question with another twist of his hips against Dylan’s.

  
“You know me… I’m not one for watching” The wandering hands have arrived by now at Thomas’ arse, teasing the skin above the waistband, making it tingle warm and pleasantly.

  
“I rather like doing things with my hands.”

  
And then they slide into his pants, cupping his cheeks and sowing blazing fire in his veins. Thomas’ hips jerk forward, rubbing and brushing over Dylan’s hard-on. The feeling is incredible and the thought of those beautiful hands inside his boxers is equally thrilling and satisfying. He’s just about to start moving in earnest, fucking against the clothed groin when the grip loosens and the touch ends, sending a small shock of disillusionment through his cozy pleasure-clouded mind.

  
“Honestly, why do you always have to wear such damn tight jeans?!”

  
Dylan groans in frustration and he has to laugh when they both start feverishly to get them open.

  
“I didn’t see you complaining before,” Thomas answers breathlessly, their fingers touching and bumping together, not actually managing the task they were trying to do. Frustrated Thomas finally brushes Dylan’s fingers and hands away, ignoring the protest from the other boy as he climbs off his lap to get rid of his fucking jeans and boxers along in one smooth move.

Even the warm night air is cold against his heated skin. Flushed with arousal and adrenalin he smirks at Dylan who’s just staring at him with a slightly open mouth. Yes, it’s a daring move (even for him). Thomas may be quite pleasantly drunk, but he’s not that drunk to _not_ notice. It’s just… he can’t bring himself to care. Not with a half naked and very aroused Dylan in front of him, with the memory of longing and electrifying touches on his cock and between his cheeks. He sends a silent prayer to whatever god he doesn’t believe in that the other boy doesn’t care either.

That this isn’t the moment he decides to chicken out. 

Because he’s hard and he wants to play.

  
Yet Dylan still watches him with that puzzled and quite adorable expression he usually wears when something intrigues him.  
Something Thomas is willing to take as a good sign.

  
“Hey… are you still with me?” he inquires, letting his fingers crawl upwards over the bluish veins of Dylan’s lower arms.

  
And then this impressive gaze settles on him again. And then he nods, shaking every ounce of confusion off him.  
(If there was more time Thomas would be thrilled and flattered, but not now.)

  
And then he smiles.

  
“There’s no place I rather be.”

  
And then he yanks Thomas back onto his lap and - oh sweet heaven - it’s perfect.

  
“Good,” Thomas says when he finds his balance again, his hands resting on Dylan’s shoulders, enjoying the feeling of his naked skin underneath them. He wets his lips in a mix of anticipation and anxiety that comes with his next question.

  
“This your first time?” he asks, words a bit slurred with both alcohol and arousal.

  
The blush reaching Dylan’s ears is almost answer enough, but then he just shrugs, his hands resting confidently on Thomas’ hips, painting small invisible patterns. It sends another wave of heat down his spine and he can’t help but grind their hips together once again.

  
“Can’t be much different than with a girl, right?”

  
Thomas laughs, loud and open. That’s good enough for him.

  
“Almost,” he agrees before tuning his attention to Dylan’s cargo pants, opening them and lifting himself up just long enough to shove them down to the other boy’s thighs.

  
He doesn’t waste any more time, licks over his palm, once, twice, three times and reaches down, taking them both into his hands. The sensation of skin on skin causes them to moan simultaneously.

  
Dylan watches him, watches his hands caressing him, eyes wide and clouded with hazy lust, biting his lips that already look deliciously bitten.

  
“I take it that this is not your first time.”

  
He laughs, not nervous, just amused and teasing before he pulls him down for a deep kiss. Hips thrusting upwards in the same insisting way his tongue licks into Thomas’ mouth and also in a way that is very promising if the other boy is as talented with his cock as he his with his tongue. It's all they do for a few long-stretched seconds. Just enjoying the friction Thomas creates between them with his hands and the open-mouthed, almost frantic kisses.

 

More tongue than anything else.

  
Thomas doesn't stop until they are both so high strung that they could both come in this very moment. And that would be a shame.

  
Not wanting to waste any more time - not even on something as nice as this - he stops their kiss and takes Dylan’s hand to wet his fingers. Licking saltiness, traces of dried whiskey and underneath the crisp of smoke. The sound that escapes him is pure music in Thomas’ ears, reveals how much his actions turn Dylan on. With a smirk he doubles his efforts, savouring that unique taste, fucking his mouth with two of those long fingers while he raises his gaze to steal a glance before he guides them to his bottom.

  
Dylan is a quick learner, stretching him with gentle but strong fingers, taking his sweet time, obviously enjoying the little gasps and moans he draws from Thomas lips.

  
“Come on,” he whispers against Dylan’s lips, running his tongue over them, “that’s enough.”

  
There’s a moment of doubt, of hesitation. Something like worry. Something he definitely doesn’t want to see. It speaks of sobriety. Of reason.

  
And even though this is now also some kind of twisted dare, it’s not only about winning, it’s more about fucking and he doesn’t care as long as Dylan doesn’t chicken out.

  
So he shifts, stopping the other boy’s thoughts and touches with reaching down, guiding Dylan as he slowly takes him in.

  
It hurts. Maybe because Dylan is a lot bigger than those two fingers. Or maybe because spit is a really poor replacement for lube… but he doesn’t care. Because the pain is bearable, no, it’s quite pleasurable. Hot and deep, fulfilling.

  
Dylan’s hands are on his waist, holding him. Keeping him in place while his thumbs paint those silly adorable twirls and swirls on his hipbones - gentle and slow, giving him time to adjust even though Thomas can see that he has to fight against the urge to thrust, to move.

  
He laughs. Then he leans closer, tangles his fingers in the dark messy hair, brushes over the slight stubbles on Dylan’s cheeks. It’s not that he has expected anything else but carefulness from him.

“It’s okay, I won’t break.”

  
It seems that those words are all Dylan needs because Thomas can hear something between a relieved sigh and a moan leaving the boy's throat before the hands on his hips tighten and the thrusts inside him gain power and speed.

  
It's good. So _fucking_ good.

  
He knows they're loud now. Their voices and the scraping of the chair ringing noisily through the air.

  
Thomas doesn't care, but he still tries to swallow Dylan's gasps and moans and words with his own mouth.

  
Sweat is forming on their bodies, the warm air clinging to them like a blanket of water and for a few almost unbearable minutes this and the pleasure building inside him is all Thomas is aware of.

  
His hands are around Dylan’s neck, grabbing shoulders, back muscles and warm soft skin. His ears ring with the delirious rasping sounds that escape the other boy every time when their mouths part to get some air into their system. His insides burn pleasantly and every thrust brushes gloriously over that perfect spot and sends more heat through his veins.

  
But even better is the whole situation, the air of danger and the thrill of getting caught. It makes his heart flutter and his cock even harder.

  
Thomas smiles against the open lips, clasps Dylan tighter to move his hips faster. The reaction is priceless.

  
Eyelids fluttering, mouth red and well kissed, chest sweaty and naked and he is totally fucking him.

  
And Dylan won’t last much longer. Thomas can see it, can feel it.

  
“Come on,” he encourages Dylan, meeting the boys thrusts a little harder and the change makes them both shudder and moan. Thomas’ fingers find their way to Dylan’s shoulders, leaving small half moon-shaped marks behind as he looks for something to anchor himself while shivering waves of pleasure run through him.  
Dylan’s hands wander upwards, from his hips towards the middle of his back and his neck, pressing him closer.

The move and the new angle takes some of the pace away and Thomas’ wants to protest at first, but the way his cock rubs now over that nicely trained stomach, trapped between their hot bodies, is very interesting and very very good. The new friction is thrilling and makes him shiver in delight, his whole body tingling with warmth and electricity. 

He feels his groin harden, his insides burning when he comes, Dylan’s sweet aroused sounds in his ear, his heartbeat as furious as his own. White spots blur his vision and he has to press his mouth against the skin of the other boy’s neck to muffle his scream.  
He’s only vaguely aware of fingers leaving angry red streaks on his back, of mumbled _‘fucks’_ and hips snapping up feverishly and into him, because his system is still on a high.

  
Only half in control of his body Thomas tries his best to grind down and meet Dylan’s desperate thrusts coaxing the boy over the edge with a last roll of his hips.  
Dylan is _loud._ All low groans and hoarse little noises in the back of his throat as he comes. Thomas smirks against his neck, feeling oddly pleased. He has always suspected Dylan to be a loud one.

  
Their bodies come to a stop, slumping down and together in a sticky, but satisfied tangle of limbs on the chair.

  
The more sober part of his mind tells him to get up and leave Dylan’s warm lap, tells him that every moment someone could walk in on them. But the other part overrules this one easily. The part that enjoys sex, enjoys staying with each other afterwards, the small gasps and shivers that still run through their bodies.  
So he doesn’t lift himself up and separates from Dylan. So he takes in the sight in front of him - Dylan’s messy hair, glistening and swollen lips from their kissing, the sticky mess on his stomach. So he breathes in the scent of cum and their mixed sweat. So he leans in once more to taste Dylan’s mouth again.

  
“Well… that was _nice,_ ” he prolongs the word, savors it like he did with the drink before.

  
“Nice? Just _nice?_ ”

  
Dylan’s grin is smug and proud in a way that’s totally adorable.

  
“More than nice,” he admits while shifting slightly, making them both gasp when Dylan slowly slips out of him, “...for a first timer.”

  
Still grinning he reaches out to fish Dylan’s shirt from the table, ignoring the boys indignant protests as he uses it to clean them both up.

“Rude!” Dylan only answers, his fingers poking at his hips, pinching him lightly and Thomas actually has to bite his lips to keep himself from making an embarrassing noise.

  
So he grabs those teasing hands, pushing them away until he can hold them tight against Dylan’s chest.

  
“Behave,” he says in a low voice, leaning down as if he wants to close the space between them again.

  
And he really wants to.

  
Wants to kiss Dylan again.

  
But sometimes teasing is even more fun.

  
With no other word he leaves his place on Dylan’s lap, grabbing first his shirt and underwear, then his jeans and dresses himself. All the while enjoying the other boy’s eyes resting on his every move.

  
They are warmth and honey, comfort and trust. Almost innocent - even after what they just did. So very Dylan and yet so totally different from the Dylan he has know before _this_. More serious and sincere. More aware and open, more curious and teasing.

  
He waits until Thomas is dressed, then he stands up, jeans still unbuttoned, chest still bare. And one hour ago Thomas would have thought something like this as impossible as snow in June, but now it’s true.

  
He had sex with Dylan. And it was the exact opposite from sweet and innocent. It was messy and dirty and good.

  
And watching Dylan dressing himself so slowly, looking at him in that challenging, totally irresistible way… he knows it would be hard to forget about this.

  
For both of them. 

**~The End~**


End file.
